Disclaimer: Don't own RENT, don't own the song "Lullaby of Broadway".
Author's Note: This is a companion story to the other "Lullaby of Broadway" story ("Close on Roger") written by my darling friend Alex Janes, who has agreed to let me post it up under my name. She's awesome, boys'n'girls. Read "Close on Roger" first… it was written first and it just works better that way, I think.
Lullaby of Broadway - Fade in On Mark
It was going to be my masterpiece. I don't know why I thought that, but I did, and I was prepared to give it my all. I wouldn't give up on it, despite the fact that I would probably want to before the week was out.
"We begin on Christmas Eve," I told my camera.
"You've said that thirty nine times today," came a voice from behind me. Roger, my roommate, best friend, and the most annoying guy on the planet sometimes. I turned around from my seat on the kitchen table and glared at him for a minute. Then, in a fit of childish rage, I hopped off the table, stuck my tongue out at him, and stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door as hard as I dared - the hinges were loose, after all.
I'd been trying to start this stupid film of mine all day, and things kept interrupting me. Roger was right, of course: I had said that line thirty nine times. And each time I started, something came up, interrupted, came to my attention, or whatever the hell that something did to stop the filming.
Attempt one - 7:21 AM. Standing outside the door of the loft.
Foiled when - I realized I forgot the key and Roger refused to let me in for twenty minutes.
Attempt five - 8:57 AM. Sitting on the floor in the middle of the loft.
Foiled when - The toilet overflowed and the water started coming out of the bathroom.
Attempt fourteen - 10:42 AM. On the roof of the building.
Foiled when - Sleet started coming down. Roger got a kick out of that one.
Attempt twenty two - 3:15 PM. Outside the building.
Foiled when - Roger dropped a snowball (made from the slushy snow that was on the roof from when the sleet had changed to snow) on my head from the loft.
Attempt thirty nine- 8:00 PM. Sitting on the kitchen table.
Foiled when- Roger decided to be an ass.
I set my camera on the dresser and flopped onto the bed. As angry as Roger made me sometimes - not thinking about me, just sort of wallowing in self pity and trying to make everyone else miserable – he was still my best friend. And I could understand why he was bitter. Having your girlfriend's suicide note consist of "I love you, we've got AIDS, goodbye" is not the most uplifting of experiences. And he really loved that girl. I closed my eyes and thought back a few months, to when April had died. It had been in mid-June, and Roger had been strangely calm about it all. The AIDS, the suicide, everything. It was completely opposite of what was normal, but everything was wrong side up back then. Collins had just left for M.I.T., and Maureen and I were in the middle of a fight about whether or not to have meat in the loft, of all things. Then the fourth of July came.
I never knew why Benny came over that day, but if he hadn't... I curled up on the bed, clinging to my pillow and regretting thinking about it. I had been so scared, so helpless to help him.
Benny had a key, obviously, and had let himself in. He heard something down in the factory area on his way up and went to check it out. About a minute later, he burst into the loft, on his cell phone with 911, and telling Maureen and I that Roger had OD'd downstairs.
I pretty much panicked. Once he was in the hospital and stable, I wanted to get in his room, so I'd be there when he woke up. I mean, no one wants to wake up in a hospital room without a familiar face there, do they? The stupid doctors, of course, didn't seem to feel the same way, but I managed to...er...CONVINCE them to let me in without them calling security.
I don't really remember what I did as I waited for him to open his eyes. Despite the reassurances of the doctors that he was fine, I wasn't going to believe it until I saw him awake. I think I was singing that song when he woke up - Lullaby of Broadway.
I always loved that song. I used to sing it to Maureen and Roger when they were down in the dumps and wanted to give up their dreams. But they had so much talent, how could I let them do that?
I think I must have drifted off to sleep, but it was funny - I could have sworn that I dreamed Roger was singing Lullaby of Broadway to me. Of course, that was silly - Roger was definitely in a bad mood, and anyway, he hadn't sung since April died.
I was startled back to the waking world by a rather sour sound, followed by a steady thrumming, although the sound kept changing in pitch. I shuffled out of the room, trying to think what it could be, and disregarding the little voice in my mind that was screaming what I KNEW it was. Because it couldn't be.
Roger was sitting on the table, tuning his guitar. I looked at him, shocked, for a long moment, but he nodded in the direction of my camera. I smiled crookedly and (after running my fingers through my hair, to make sure it wasn't TOO mussed for the camera) started filming yet again. And this time, it would be perfect.
"We begin on Christmas Eve..."